Animal In Me
by makeyafamous
Summary: Billy Darling, she calls him, when she wants something. Doc, another nickname, she uses when she needs a hit of that sweet, sweet liquid candy. She never thought she'd call him her savior.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_... it's the darker side of lust ... it's the other side of us ... it's the thing in you that feeds ... the animal in me ..._

Throughout my twenty-three years on Earth, I came to realize that most people had a strong disliking for one or both of their parents, usually their father. Whether the old man never gave them enough hugs or he was out banging his secretary or he was a drunk and chose instead to bang on the kid, I didn't know. I never really cared enough to know. I never understood it either. I loved my father; adored the hell out of him. He was the one person who gave me everything I ever asked for: new Barbie doll for Christmas when I was six, pink bike with pink streamers on my eighth birthday, a new used car on my sixteenth, a case of Bud Light on my eighteenth, and the permission and blessing to finally be a part of his world on my twenty-first. I had no brothers or sisters and my mother had abandoned us some years back upon discovering what my dad really did for a living. I didn't miss her. So I was the only one left for my father to love, and love me like I was the best daughter in the world he did.

I assume that, because I loved my father so much, I grew up in his image; inheriting his unmatched ability at persuasion, his amazing calmness in the face of danger, and his immense hunger for money. Money came right after my father and me on the Most Important Things list, and I never hid this fact about me. What girl didn't enjoy having money to spend on whatever she wanted? Be it clothes, shoes, new car. I had all of those things, but still it never seemed to be enough. I wanted more. But somewhere deep down in places I never talked about–not even drunk or high–I knew what I wanted was not something material. I was missing something in my life, and the profound void in my chest reminded me of that every day.

Maybe my deep-seeded need to be needed was what attracted to me the losers I usually spent the night with. I knew as well as they that they weren't looking for anything lasting longer than the night, but for that night, they did need me, they did want me, and I was the only woman in the world to them. Sick and really fucking twisted, I know, but I thrived on that feeling; the feeling of being the only one, even if I knew I wasn't. Billy Darley was no exception, which is why I now found myself standing before my father's desk, fully prepared to lay on the very charm he'd given me. It truly astonished me how the old man never saw me coming each and every time I had an off-the-wall idea.

"Billy Darley?" he asked, incredulous. His green eyes, matching my own, stared dully up at me as he blinked slowly. This was his uninterested expression; the one which told me he required a little more explanation, a little more finesse.

"You don't know him, so don't give me that look," I jested, smiling like daddy's little girl always should. He'd told me long ago how much my smile reminded him of my mother. I closed my ears whenever he talked about her.

"That's Bones' oldest, right?"

"The one and only."

"Bones says that kid ain't worth a bucket of piss."

"Ugh," I moaned, "consider the fuckin' source!"

"Tierney," he warned, his mouth tight.

"Sorry," I immediately backtracked. Twenty-three-years-old and it was still impolite to use curse words in the presence of my father. "Seriously, Pop ... Bones ... is a fuckin' asshole."

"_Tierney_!" he shouted.

"_Sorry_!" I sighed, taking a seat in the lone chair across the desk from Dad. "Look, I can vouch for Billy ... he's good at what he does."

"I'm gonna go ahead and ignore the implications in that sentence," my father said, squirming uncomfortably in his massive chair. I giggled. Ever since he'd had to be the one to give me "the talk," he wouldn't touch conversations in relation to anything about sex or the reproductive system with a ten foot pole. "What the hell makes you think I'm just gonna hand over one of my spots to a kid I don't even know?"

"Because _I_ know him," I said. "He could be a hell of a money-maker if someone would put him in the right place." The old man leaned on his chair, tracing a finger across his lips; a trait I'd also inherited. Time to go in for the kill. "Just give him a block ..."

"A _block_?" he exclaimed, now leaning forward. "This kid's a goddamn _embryo_ to me, Tierney, and I'm gonna give him a _block_?"

I smiled. "Give him a block," I continued calmly, "for a month, and we'll go from there. If he doesn't return, well ... do with him what you will." I sat back in my chair, removing a pack of Marlboro's from my purse along with a lighter; a habit I'd picked up from the very man my father and I were currently discussing.

The old man sighed heavily with a hand over his mouth. His eyes were on me, searching my face. Soon enough he would see the determination and faith I had in Billy Darley, then he would surrender and give me what I wanted. It was a dance we did, a game we played. Though I'm not sure if my father realized just how many times we'd gone round and round for no reason at all.

"A block," he repeated. And victory was mine.

"A block," I shrugged, lips tight around the cigarette in my mouth as I lit it.

He growled then, folding his arms on his desk. All of this I'd seen before, and it took everything I had not to burst out with laughter. He looked at me again; this was usually the last look before the final surrender. It was a look, I guessed, he thought he would use to make me rethink my entire argument. A look fathers give their daughters when they know they're lying and they know the little girls will crack under the pressure of daddy's disappointed eyes. I cracked under those eyes only once, but I couldn't remember the reason.

"Fine," he conceded, and inside I was screaming with excitement. Billy would be so fucking happy when he heard the news, and his happiness would surely benefit the both of us. "One block, one month."

"Done!" I squeaked, jumping to my feet.

"But I wanna meet this kid first!" he mandated, pointing at me. I wanted to remind him of all the times he'd told me it was impolite to point, but I didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Absolutely!" I agreed. "You won't regret it, Pop."

"For his sake, I better not." That was code for _if he screws up, he'll get his fucking ass beat_. My father never killed anyone unless they absolutely deserved it: stole from him, skimmed off the top, insulted his daughter or estranged wife, whatever. He was never one to kill just because.

"Everything will be fine," I assured him, spinning round and heading for the door.

"_Tierney Rose_!" my father hollered at my back. Then I remembered.

I jogged around his desk and kissed him on the cheek, even throwing in a quick hug for good measure. He told me to be careful, as usual, and not to forget my damn gun in the damn glove compartment again. Then he asked what I hoped he wouldn't: You're not dealing with the Darley kid directly, are you?

"Of course not," I lied brilliantly, yet another useful trick handed down by the old man. "What do you take me for?"

"I find out you're lyin' to me ..." he threatened.

"I know, I know. You'll cut me off. But Daddy ... who's gonna take care of your sorry ass then?" I grinned.

"I have no idea," he smirked.

"Get some sleep, Pop," I told him, all jokes aside. "You look tired."

"You would be, too, if you were sitting in this chair."

"No worries. I will be one day."

He rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, Tierney."

"Later, Pop," I laughed.

As soon as I was outside and halfway down the driveway, I pulled out my cell phone, dialing a familiar number. Listening to the ringing, I lit another cigarette.

"_Yeah_?" The voice was like smoke on velvet, a voice I could get off to without even being touched. A voice belonging to one Billy Darley.

"_Billy Darling_," I cooed, unable to keep the smile from my face. Already the painful void in my chest was beginning to fill with the mere thought of seeing him today and seeing the lust in his eyes.

"Stop fuckin' callin' me that," he bitched, sucking in a quick breath. He must have been smoking as well. "What do you want?" Anyone who didn't know Billy might have been insulted by his rudeness, but I was used to it by now. However, there was no reason for him to be mean all the time.

"Meet me at Maggie's in ten minutes, asshole," I retorted, snapping the phone shut before he could answer.

The next ten minutes passed by quickly as I ignored the vibration of my phone and consequently Billy's phone calls. It wasn't necessary for me to answer simply so I could hear him call me a bitch and advise me to never fucking hang up on him again. He'd probably finish the rant with _don't you know who you're fuckin' talkin' to?_ Oh well. The angrier he got between now and our meeting, the hotter said meeting would be.

I waited patiently inside St. Magdalene Church, in the very back row where no one sat. As luck would have it, I'd scheduled a meeting with the most sexually hungry man I'd ever met inside a Catholic church during evening Sunday mass. I smiled. Well, wouldn't be the first time we'd had an "encounter" inside a church. He'd shoved me into the confessional a time or two. On a separate occasion, we'd started in the confessional, but ended up on the hood of his car in broad daylight. One wouldn't know it by looking at him, but Billy Darley had a thing for churches. Perhaps it was the dirty, wrong, badness of it, which definitely suited Billy. Me? I just wanted the sex, the need for someone to need me, and I got it wherever it was possible.

As Father McCoy was beginning to speak about the Seven Deadly Sins–was today my lucky day?–the floor-to-ceiling doors were suddenly shoved open with nearly enough force to knock them off their hinges. I didn't need to look to know who'd just entered this place of sanctuary, but I did anyway. And there was Billy Darley, exhaling a plume of smoke from a cigarette he'd most likely dropped on his way in, glorifying his leather jacket and dark clothing. He was what every gang lord should have looked like, and he acted like one as well. People feared Billy Darley simply because of his exterior, meaning most people didn't even get to fear his threats and promises.

He stood there for a moment, bright, malevolent eyes locked on the priest before, shockingly, he crossed himself and kissed the crucifix which hung from a silver chain round his neck. He even kneeled! I'd never seen him do such a thing. This guy absolutely could not be religious. Absolutely not.

Could he? Could Billy Darley really be a closet Catholic?

Coming to his feet again, he looked to his left where I was sitting, and started toward me. Knowing he didn't need an invitation, he plopped onto the wood next to me with an obnoxious grunt, throwing an arm on the pew behind me. Billy was exceptionally arrogant today. He was always superior toward everyone around him, but he now seemed to exude a bit more. He'd more than likely guessed my secret already.

"So?" he pressed, not bothering to look at me. "What is it?"

"Hello to you, too, Billy," I evaded. He sighed, turning his head to look at me then, chin down, eyes up. If I'd had a reason to be frightened of him, the fear definitely would have kicked in after that look.

"What is it, Tierney?" he asked. "I don't have all goddamn day." He spoke loud enough for several attendees to turn and scowl at him. Had he noticed, he might've raised his middle finger, his very favorite finger.

"Really?" I feigned surprise. "Is there a cigarette you should be smoking?" I leaned closer to him, smelling his cologne; the cologne he spent more than fifty bucks on; the cologne that got my motor going every time. "A beating you should be receiving?"

I didn't suspect the reason he'd put his arm behind me was to make grabbing my hair that much easier for him, but turns out that's exactly why he did it. Stealthily, he'd wrapped his hand several times in my hair, then yanked, bending my neck at a very awkward and painful position. I had enough presence of mind to not scream, but several tears sprang in my eyes.

"I said," he hissed through clenched teeth, his nose jammed against my cheek, "I don't have all _god_ ... _damn_ ... _day_."

"Fucking cocksucker," I grit, both hands reaching back to his hand deep in my hair. I thought maybe I'd be able to pull his hand closer to my hair thereby lessening the pulling, but his knuckles were shoved against my skull. Any minute now and I'd be bald.

"_Tierney_," he warned, growling. His hot breath ghosted down my cheek and across my neck. I liked the rough stuff, he knew that, but fuck!, this was too rough.

"You got the fuckin' block, dick!" I confessed. The grip loosened on my hair, but the hand was relentless.

"I got what?" he whispered, mouth now positioned beside my ear. That smoky breath tickled my skin, and my thighs twitched.

"Asshole, you heard me," I spat, turning my head despite the pain to glare up at him. His eyes met mine, and, like every time before, I melted underneath those icy pools of the brightest blue. Billy's not-so-secret weapon when it came to finding women he didn't have to pay for was his eyes. Just flash the ladies those stellar blues and the panties drop. Like magic.

"Say it again," he told me softly, "but say it nicely."

I took a deep breath to calm myself, my head a throbbing ball of agony, my hair a centimeter away from being a cancer patient's newest wig. "You got the block, baby," I said as sweetly as my body could muster.

He attacked my neck then, releasing my hair at the same time. Billy Darley was chock full of surprises today. He now cradled the back of my head, though it didn't relieve the pain, and his free hand snaked up my chest between my breasts to the other side of my neck. This was the feeling I craved: I'd done something nice for him, so now he wanted me, now he needed me.

"That's my girl," he rumbled in my ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth, my hooped earring going right along with it. "Ya did good."

"I know," I smiled, proud of myself.

I closed my eyes, still smiling, enjoying his hands all over me, and his mouth. His hand came down from my neck slowly, following the same path it had taken moments go, where it stopped on my thigh. His fingers snuck below my crossed legs and lifted my leg onto his, effectively separating them. Had anyone been sitting directly in front of us, they would have been given a show in the form of my spread legs and hiked up denim skirt.

"He wants to meet you first," I moaned, my back arching as his hand slyly glided upward on my thigh, disappearing beneath my skirt. His fingers were almost as talented as his mouth.

"Mhmm," he mumbled, probably not hearing a word I said. His tongue, lips, and teeth were continuing their assault on my neck as his fingers worked me over, happy to find me wet and ready.

"God," I groaned, my back bowed as far as it would go, creating what was probably a massive opening between my spine and the back of the pew. I hooked my leg around his, the muscles in the back of my knee and thigh contracting tightly. Billy's fingers were long, rough, and so fucking talented, and there was no place I'd rather be than here with him and his fingers.

"Say it loud enough," he breathed into my ear, causing my body to roll against his hand, bringing him in deeper. Two fingers now, and I was losing control of my respirations, ignoring the squeaking of my sticky skin against the wooden benches. "And He might just hear you."

I looked up at him, emerald eyes meeting sapphire ones, and smiled.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_... she speaks to me in Persian ... tells me she loves me ... the girl with golden eyes ... and though i hardly know her ... i let her in veins ... and trust her with my life ..._

I had three cars, two of which I drove; the other one I simply liked to look at. The one I drove the most–the one I was in now–was a 2001 Pontiac Firebird, sleek and black, and almost fast enough to keep up with Billy's '67 Mustang, which I hated with a fiery passion. The paint job–black with curling red shapes from the hood to the side–was ridiculous; it matched the whole gang's fucking tattoos! I never missed an opportunity to call each of them pansies for making sure they matched their car. The other vehicle I drove was a 32,000 2008 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution; apex silver metallic in color, black interior, and all the bells and whistles I could buy to go with it. This was my expensive car, my pride and joy, the one I drove during the day to my real job, the one I got compliments on. Finally, the car I kept under lock and key since I bought it three years ago was a 1967 Chevy Impala. A boat, Billy called it, but he'd been trying to get his dirty hands on it for months now, wanting to do with it God knows what. My dad even wanted to take it for a drive, but I wouldn't let his grand-theft-auto ass anywhere near it. Same with Billy Darley and any member of his gang.

Swerving into oncoming traffic, I passed a Hyundai Billy had passed seconds before me. The Mustang's taillights were only a few feet in front of me now, and if there were no other cars after the upcoming curve, I'd be able to pass him and stay in front of him until we got to the Four Roses. It'd been too long since I'd won a race and I deserved the bragging rights. In fact, the bastard should have let me win for providing him the opportunity to make more money than he could ever imagine. Wishful thinking. As soon as we rode out the curve, the longest fucking traffic line I'd ever seen sped by, and Billy put the pedal to the floor. The Mustang and its gay paint job were gone in the blink of an eye.

I arrived at the Four Roses after having to stop for a pack of cigarettes and I parked next to Billy's car, which I briefly considered keying. He'd probably cut my hands off and steal the Impala, I thought, heading into the hole-in-the-wall bar. The only real reason I came here was because I got to drink on Billy's tab; that, and there were plenty of "secret" rooms for he and I to quench our thirst for other more carnal desires.

The whole place smelled like potent alcohol, the kind that burned the back of your throat and tingled in the pit of your stomach, and weed. Billy's boys were already here. I blinked under the hot red lights from above, narrowing my eyes as I spotted them sitting at their usual table. Most of Billy's gang was drug fiends, but all were accomplished alcoholics. Billy was an addict as well, though with a great deal more willpower than any other; he could go weeks without an injection or a toke or even a sip. He never wanted to, of course, and he was all but unbearable in prolonged sobriety, but he could survive. Billy Darley's capabilities never ceased to amaze me.

"_There she is_!"

I narrowed my eyes even more than before, lifting a hand to shield my eyes from the annoying vermilion lights, and I saw that it had been Bodie who'd yelled over the music. He was my favorite of Billy's gang.

"Here I am," I replied, smiling, coming to a stop next to the table they occupied. Only one thing caught my attention and that was the hooker sitting next to Billy, whispering probable nasty nothings into his ear.

"The bitch of the hour!" Heco announced, raising his glass.

"Am I gonna have to sit on the floor?" I inquired, glaring at the prostitute currently occupying my usual seat.

"You can sit on my face," Spink suggested.

I tilted my head, staring at him dully. "I wouldn't sit on your face with _her_ pussy," I said, thrusting a thumb in the call girl's direction. I heard the rumble of Billy's laughter, and I looked at him; cigarette hanging from his lips, arm around the back of the hooker's chair, idiotic grin on his face. He was loaded already.

"You're just gonna let her talk to me like that?" the solicitor asked Billy. He chuckled again, this time raising his other hand and waving at her. "What the _fuck_!" she exclaimed, looking across the table for other assistance.

"Peace," Spink said, holding up his fingers in the correct symbol.

"Go with God," Baggy suggested, waving as well.

"Or you could just go," I shrugged. She rolled her eyes.

"Faggots," she spat, jumping to her feet and shoving me out of her way as she headed back to the bar. I wasn't much of a fighter, so I let her go without another word. She was out of my seat and that's all that mattered.

"I see you got started without me," I said, turning toward Billy, lifting my leg over top of his. Our seating arrangement was quite similar to the one at church.

"Guess you'll have to catch up then," he told me, eyes unnecessarily wide, head tilting in all directions. He got weird when he was stoned.

"Barkeep!" Bodie shouted, holding his empty glass in the air.

The first few shots of Tequila were to whet my appetite, loosen me up for Johnnie Black: my chosen whiskey. I listened to drug-selling stories from around the table, racist jokes, and what every guy would like to do to every girl at the bar. In detail. Detail I certainly did not need or care to have stored in my memory.

"Where's Joe?" Billy asked oddly clearly, the white powder on the cracked mirror before him acting as a sobering tool so he'd be able to drink even more later on.

"Said he was workin' late," Bodie answered, taking a long drag from the joint in his hand. As always he offered me a hit and as always I turned him down. I fucking hated the smell of marijuana.

"Workin' late?" Spink repeated, staring at the table. This guy was the lightweight of the group and the damn dumbest drunk anyone ever had the pleasure of meeting. "When has Joe ever worked late?"

"When has Joe ever _worked_?" Billy corrected, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Looking at him, I wondered if the guy ever changed his clothes, or ever stepped out of the stereotypical black shirt and jeans. I giggled as I imagined him in something pink. "What's so fuckin' funny?" he demanded.

"Stick a fuckin' cork in it, Billy," I laughed. "Joe's fine." Billy ignored me–no surprise there–as he pulled out his cell phone.

"_Aw, d'you miss me already_?"

The whole table turned to find Joe standing only a few feet away, a huge grin on his face.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Billy yelled. Joe reached into his pocket before tossing several small stacks of cash at his big brother.

"Makin' you fuckin' money!" He looked down at me and smiled. "How you doin', T?"

"I'm just fine, Joey," I smiled. "How are you?"

"Still alive."

I looked at Billy. "Told you," I taunted.

Billy grabbed my chin, squeezing not as hard as he could, though it still turned me on. "Who said you could talk to me like that?" he asked.

"I did," I smiled stupidly, the alcohol making me almost as dumb as Spink.

"Bitch," he accused, his face so close to mine, his breath so hot against my face. My eyes closed and I licked my lips hungrily, my leg clenching around his.

"Whose bitch?" I asked quietly, my eyes opening again to meet Billy's unholy blue weapons of mass destruction. He leaned forward, his mouth grazing my ear as he laid claim.

"My bitch."

He proceeded to feast on my neck and ear, never forgetting how sensitive my skin was in those areas. He knew I liked to be owned, but he didn't know he was the only one I let take control. Billy Darley was the only man I felt comfortable enough with to relinquish power. He didn't need to know any of this; his ego was big enough for the both of us.

"Is it hot in here or is it _Mayday_?" Joe shouted.

"I don't know," Heco responded. "How 'bout we all take a run at her and see if it is her!"

"How 'bout you shut the fuck up!" I snapped, hurling a shot glass in Heco's general direction, missing him by miles. I returned my attention to Billy, gently pushing him away so I could look into his eyes again. Those fucking killer eyes. "Come on, _Doc_," I cooed. "I got a pain … right here." I pointed to my foot.

"Oh, yeah?" Billy played along. "Well, the doctor is in, baby."

"How much is the good doctor charging tonight?" I inquired, but it didn't matter. I'd have paid well over a thousand bucks for what I wanted.

"It's on the house," he replied seductively, sucking hard on his cigarette. "Got somethin' real pretty lined up for ya."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I stood, never mind how unsteadily, and took Billy's huge, rough hand into mine.

"See ya tomorrow," Billy laughed, briefly high-fiving his friends as we left the table.

"Hey, man!" Joe called. "Don't work her too hard … she's a delicate flower."

I turned around, fully prepared to show little Joey Darley just how delicate I was, when Billy suddenly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, giving the impression that I weighed a buck fifty. Obviously he was sobering up again; otherwise, he would've let me slip right out of his grasp. He was laying claim again, showing off his personal property. I liked to be showed off; what girl didn't?

"_Mayday_! _Mayday_!" Joe shouted.

"Stop _calling_ me that!" I howled. Somehow, somewhere, this gang had associated the term _mayday_ with my first name, or rather with _tyranny_. _In the event of tyranny, one would shout, 'Mayday!'_ it had once been explained to me. Douchebags.

Billy carried me across the bar toward the private rooms of the Four Roses. Hookers were plentiful here, and the owner retained nearly half their earnings for using his rooms. The guy, whoever he was, had to be making a killing with this spot. I'd considered looking into becoming a partner, but Billy had put a stop to that real fast. After he set me down on my feet, Billy made sure I wouldn't fall on my face before thumping his way through the pitch black room to turn on the lamp. A soft, non-red light cast shadows over everything in this small pseudo-prison cell.

"Sit down," Billy ordered, and I was happy to oblige, except instead of sitting, I collapsed on the bed. I stretched my body, bones creaking and cracking, purring contentedly as I did so.

"So, what do you have for me, _Doc_?" I asked, turning my head to look at Billy. He knelt down beside the shade-less lamp, which was also near the bed where I was, and rummaged through a black backpack. "Something for my sweet tooth?"

Billy removed the cigarette from his mouth and smirked up at me, eyes wild and gleaming beneath the nearly burnt out light bulb . "I got somethin' for ya," he promised.

I watched excitedly as he removed a syringe from the backpack as well as a packaged needle. Before getting my disease-free hands on Billy Darley, he'd had a tendency to reuse needles because he was so fucking blown out of his mind that he didn't realize he did it. That was the first problem I'd solved. He only had about a million more for me to take on. Next, he pulled out a small glass bottle, the word MORPHINE in big, black letters typed on the label.

"You wanna do it?" he asked, holding the syringe up, eyes searching the rest of the contents of his backpack.

"No," I said softly, reaching over to tug at Billy's earlobe. He swatted my hand away, and I grinned. "Fix me."

Billy's eyes met mine then, a glint of mischievousness there. Again I was giving him control over me; the best kind of control in his opinion. He liked having jurisdiction over my high, deciding how much or how little he set me up with. Any drug addict or recovering addict will tell you that allowing someone else to fix and administer your dose is the most sure-fire way to get your ass killed. But I trusted Billy; he didn't want to die anymore than I did.

I rolled onto my side, tucking my hand beneath my cheek, observing Billy in his natural habitat. He snapped on a single, white latex glove, and then opened the sterile needle, which he attached to the syringe with a click. He removed the glove quickly (he said he hated the way the material felt against his skin) and punctured the top of the morphine bottle with the needle, extracting the clear liquid into the syringe. He then tapped the syringe with the needle pointing upward to rid the tube of air bubbles, which he expelled by pressing the plunger down. The morphine shot into the air, and I was practically giddy. Billy then pulled an alcohol wipe out of the backpack; this would be the last item out. He went through all of these precautions for me, never for himself. He sat at the foot of the bed–my cue to kick off my shoes–lifting my leg onto his thigh. I sat up then, always wanting to watch the injection. Billy cleaned the area with the alcohol wipe, tossing it over his shoulder when he was finished.

"In," he instructed, and I sucked in a quick breath as he shoved the needle into a vein he hadn't used last time. He jacked back the needle, bringing my blood into the syringe, and pressed the plunger down. I closed my eyes, lying back again, awaiting the euphoric effect of my sweet, sugary friend to kick in.

Moments–less than ten seconds–after the introduction of the painkiller into my bloodstream, I jolted upright, gasping loudly, reaching for my foot. I quickly became dizzy, disoriented, briefly forgetting the man's name who'd just injected me with something that was so definitely _not _morphine.

"_Fuck_," I whispered disbelievingly, tears flooding my eyes, blurring my vision as I tried to look at Billy. "What did you do?" He smiled, wolfish, bone-chilling. My teeth chattered, jarring my brain, and I looked down at my hands; they were trembling, shaking, I couldn't stop them. I couldn't control my breathing either, and it was going in and out faster and faster.

"Ride it out," Billy's smoke on velvet voice advised. I thought I saw his hand on my foot as the tears fell from my eyes and I could see a bit more clearly. But I couldn't feel it.

"Am I dying?" I asked, and I couldn't hear myself speaking. Had I said that out loud? Billy smiled, and his mouth seemed to stretch across the room. My eyes widened, blinking, confused.

"You're not dyin'," he said. His voice echoed, and I put my hands over my ears.

Everything fell quiet. My hands weren't shaking anymore, I wasn't dizzy or confused. My vision was back to normal. But I was still different, higher now than any other fucking time in my entire life. Every nerve-ending in my body screamed with sensation, even the ones not being touched.

"See." Billy spoke softly now, almost inaudibly. "Now you see." I looked at him. His eyes were brighter than before, more voracious. Aggressive. My eyes fell to his arms; impressive biceps, then his hands; those goddamn beautiful hands. Billy Darley was the most exquisite sin.

"Billy," I breathed desperately, my arm sluggish as I reached up to grasp the back of his neck. I brought him forward, pressing his forehead to mine.

"Tierney," he whispered.

"Fuck me … Billy."

He needed no more incentive and he discarded that black t-shirt followed by my top, which he tossed somewhere unknown. Every time he touched me, my senses exploded; all five of them filled with Billy Darley. He laid me back, climbing on top of me, situating himself between my legs. It was like he fit there, like a puzzle piece, like a Rubix Cube matched correctly. I laid my head back, closing my eyes, and everything went dark.

* * *

I wanted to kill Billy Darley and, by kill, I meant rip his face off and throw him into a bathtub full of dirty needles. The son of a bitch. In the six months I'd know him, he'd never tricked me and given me something he knew I did not want; no, he'd asked if I wanted to try something different, which was always his drug of choice, the one that made him on edge and certifiably insane for twenty-three out of the twenty-four hours of the day. _Methamphetamine_ was the medical term, _ice_ is what we called it because nine times out of ten, the user's teeth either clenched or chattered upon the initial injection.

"Is that what you gave me?" I'd asked this morning, after flinging my head over the side of the bed and emptying the contents of my stomach all over the floor. Luckily there were no clothes to be stained. "Did you shoot me up with _ice_, you fuck?"

"Hey, I didn't hear any complaints," he chuckled, pulling on his black shirt.

"You're sick," I accused him, and he didn't argue. "What the hell made you pull a stunt like that when you know I could tell my father and he'd have your ass for breakfast?"

"Because you know I'll kill you," Billy nonchalantly replied, but his voice didn't need to be colored with fury for me to know he was likely telling the truth. Though it was possible his definition of _kill_, in this case, was _make you wish you were dead_.

"Fuck you," I hissed, shaking my head. We were standing toe-to-toe by now, challenging one another. I would lose the battle, no doubt about it, but it wasn't about winning or losing for me.

"Fuck me?" he asked, amused. "We already played that game ... and now I'm done."

I was incredulous, disbelieving of the current situation as well as what had happened last night. I blamed myself for putting so much trust in Billy, for maintaining the volatile relationship he and I seemed doomed to share, for setting him up to be a millionaire within the next five years. I was such a fucking idiot.

"Get your dumbass to my dad's," I ordered, shoving passed his solid body, shocked that he didn't grab me or push me back.

"Where the fuck are you goin'?" he commanded, following behind me. I opened the door, stomping through the desolate bar. Desolate except for Joe, who'd been waiting for Billy all night long, I assumed.

"Home to change," I growled.

"How's it goin', _Mayday_?" Joe giggled. "Want a beer?"

I stared dumbly at him, blinking, and glanced at my watch. "It's 9:30 in the morning."

He shrugged. "So?" He pulled out a cigarette and, under this right light, he reminded me so much of Billy. Joe had better qualities, however, and I hoped he never changed for the worst.

"Go to sleep, Joe," I suggested, knowing he wouldn't listen to me, but feeling better about myself for having advised him.

Stepping out into the brutal sunlight of the cool morning, I prayed my sunglasses were somewhere in my car. No way would I be able to drive home with these sensitive eyes, nauseous stomach, and agonizing headache.

"I'll meet you there," I tossed over my shoulder at Billy, who was still close behind.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Billy had the audacity to ask. I spun around. So many ways I could answer that question.

"You know I don't like that shit," I whispered conspiratorially. "Why the hell would you give it to me?"

"You're tellin' me you didn't like last night?" he asked, smirking evilly.

I frowned. "I don't _remember_ last night, fucker! That's why I don't do _ice_!"

"I'm startin' to think my work ain't appreciated," Billy said, and I was unsure whether or not he was joking.

"Goodbye, Billy."

I jumped quickly into my car, pressing the automatic lock button, knowing full well that windows were extremely breakable and one Billy Darley happened to thoroughly enjoy the sound of breaking glass. Billy didn't bother me, though, didn't feel the need to continue our conversation slash argument any longer. He got into his own car, turning it on and throwing it into gear, peeling out of the parking lot with squealing tires and plumes of smoke in his wake.

"Jesus Christ," I moaned, clutching my aching stomach as I leaned forward, banging my forehead against the steering wheel. "I should fucking kill myself."

My entire body jerked with the sudden ringing of my cell phone. I didn't remember grabbing it from inside the Four Roses, so I must've left it in the car right along with my purse. Eventually, I would have to add stupid and reckless to my list of reasons why I should kill myself. I wasn't going to answer it because I thought for sure it was Billy calling to harass me. But it could've been my father as well.

Looking at the caller i.d., a smile came across my face; a genuine smile. I cleared my throat before opening my phone.

"Hello?"

"Angie?"

My smile grew. "Christian."

"Didn't see you today." More than a hint of a Southern twang.

"Maybe I'm just tired of dealing with you because you won't make a damn decision."

He chuckled so smooth and sexy. "I like things the way I like 'em," he replied.

"Doesn't mean you have to take up two weeks of my precious time," I teased. No doubt he could hear the smile in my voice just as I could hear his.

"All right then. Well ... it's possible I got ... other intentions."

Giggling silently, I said, "I suggest you make your other intentions known before people start to talk."

"Think they're not talkin' already?"

"What do you want, Christian?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said. "Weird not seein' you there, is all."

"Very kind of you to check up on me, Chris, but I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it." Pause. "Gonna be there tomorrow?"

"I'll see you when I see you," I said sweetly.

"That code for tomorrow?"

I snapped my phone shut, still grinning. "Christian Steele," I mumbled, dropping my phone onto the passenger seat. "Yep–" I started my car. "–definitely should kill myself."


End file.
